


there's so much i want to do with you

by neverchill



Category: Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: Jespar is an asshole but hes still my husband thank you, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-09-22 02:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17051021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverchill/pseuds/neverchill
Summary: a variety of prophet/jespar stories based on canon and canon-divergent premises





	there's so much i want to do with you

**Author's Note:**

> dialogue heavy, as my work uuuuuusually is.
> 
> this one is a non-canon "what if everything was fine" kind of schtick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jespar and whit take an illegal passage to lethonia.
> 
> jespar has never simultaneously given and withheld so much. being alone together is another example of his poorly veiled desire to be normal. maybe he can settle down this time.
> 
> "whats your problem?"  
> "nothing the government just wants me dead wbu"  
> "same. but im also already dead, so thats sort of awkward"

"I'll meet you back in Ark."

Jespar hadn't even stepped off the boat onto the docks before crushing the scroll paper in his fist. Whit watched him disappear. Sure, they'd spent quite a bit of time together, and maybe it would be reasonable to believe that he'd not want to spend another night with him - and he wouldn't put it past him. But he'd been curt and short and so obviously uncomfortable, that it made Whit consider taking a shortcut back, himself.

At the same time, just three hours before then, Jespar had his head leaned on Whit's shoulder and his hand on his knee, staring absently at the midnight waves. In Duneville, Whit got himself a bed for the night, forgoing gritty steppe steaks and drinking himself to sleep instead.

Around noon the next day, he started to begin his companion's... apprehension. Just outside of the wasting sands he'd found a lush forest of low-water trees and plants. Crags of rock jutted from the landscape, catching passing wisps of clouds and allowing life to thrive in their shadows. Down the path that his map had shown was the main road back to the city of Ark was a structure. Nestled against a ring of mountainous terrain, in a valley of greenery, in a natural defense of stone, huge gates lying broken and unlocked at the front lead the way in. He squinted at the map in his hands.

Estate of the Dal'Varek

Huh.

An eerie feeling washed over him, looking up at the structure, like the presence of a ghost. Or many of them. The birds continued to sing above and ahead as he pulled his axe from his waist and plunged on, past the battered gates and their panther seals. Plant life was growing right up to the front wall of the building - or, what was left of it. The banana palms growing from the cracks in the sandstone foundation were young, but bearing fruit. It was fairly easy to confirm, based on Jespar's age and story, that the ruin corroborated his recount. At least twenty years of reclamation had taken place.

Another vision swam as he ran the math.

An image. Jespar, standing at the precipice of a cliff, far under the ground. Opening his arms to feel the ocean's breeze off the cove, he turns his head slightly back to Whit and the latter gives him a half of a smile, thinking perhaps he's trying to get him to appreciate the spectacle. Jespar mirrors it and more, sounding melancholy despite his beaming visage. "Mother nature always takes back what's her's, doesn't she?"

-

As they pass through the mountains and see the desert before them, Jespar makes a face of displeasure. Whit continues to grin like he usually does, pulls his hood up, and brandishes his axe.

"If this is some sort of ill-conceived present, I'm afraid I'll have to be relentless and unapologetic in dumping your ass. I don't take presents." Jespar gives him a lingering sour look. Whit charges down the slope.

"Sounds to me like people just don't give you presents, so you don't know how to receive them."

Jespar pauses at the crest, raises a hand to look over the valley, and then sighs and jogs on after him. "Ouch, you've gotten me. What's your psychoanalysis led you to? What's my prognosis?"

"It's not really a present, don't you won't have to get all worked up about it."

"Hey, you're learning."

"I've learned when you're on the precipice of insanity so I can go easy on you."

Jespar makes a quiet huff of amusement and affirmation and stays silent a while. Whit takes them down whatever path he can find, although the way the desert is now, most cobbles have been lost to the shifting sand. He knows his way around here quite well, though, after many trips in and out for various reasons. It's still all a mystery to him, the way the trees rise from the silt among the Starling ruins, the scattered remains of ancients. He'd figured Jespar would give him some sort of commentary on the landscape as they traversed like he usually does.

At first, it seemed as if he were wrong about this assumption. However, it takes less than an hour for the urge to evidently overwhelm him, and he begins to speak. "You know, before the embargo, this place was... really something. As many citizens as ten Arks. Duneville and Silvergrove... gorgeous to look at. And Powder Cliff."

It sort of wrenches Whit's heart hearing the sigh Jespar gives beside him. He'd made a quip once about his wistful nostalgia before and regretted it, so he stays quiet as the other speaks. "...Before it collapsed into the sea, it was a glowing golden cliff with temples of sand raised on every corner. Streets paved with marble, four-story homes, fountains in every yard. The court was full of fruit trees and honey and fresh, clean water." Whit sucks on his teeth and sends a glance in Jespar's direction, but the other is looking away, staring into the palm tree boughs ahead, northward, toward a temple on the peak of a mountain.

"Do you ever wish that you could go back?"

"To Powder Cliff? No, not really. It was fun to look at a few times, sure, but the moment we start worshipping places... Pfsh. Yeah, that'll be the day. If anything, I'm glad that it's gone. Serves people better to stay away from it. What'd they get out of a town solely for the rich, on a big fat hill? Nothing. The rich people who lived there could afford to live anywhere, at any time. It didn't matter to them what happened to the land. They probably don't pay it a second thought."

Whit's not sure if that's ironic intentionally, but when Jespar searches the horizon to the east in front of them, Whit can see his Sublime-jaded tired eyes finding the place between the peaks where the cliff used to be, so many miles away.

Whit shrugs. "That's not what I meant, but, you know? I don't think that sentimental value is exactly akin to worship. Not entirely."

Jespar scoffs. "You save the world for me and agree with all that I have to say, only to let me down easy on my worldviews once you've gotten your time of day?"

"I'm just saying that missing things is okay. I miss things. I miss a lot of things."

"What could nostalgia bring me that I don't already have? I've experienced it before. I'm not a fan."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You and I aren't the same." Jespar gives him a heavy pat on the back and Whit musters up a smile. "But please, save me the emotions until we're taking a break?"

They weave south around the lone peak that'd been to the direct east of them at the mountain pass. There are a few members of the local wildlife that are unhappy with their presence, but nothing that couldn't either be completely navigated around thanks to Jespar's know-how or picked off with some expertly-placed arrows, courtesy of Whitlock's shitty old bow. Whit consults Jespar nearly the entire time for directions, and although he leaves their destination unclear, Jespar doesn't seem to have a problem with doling out advice. Thankfully, his desire to be a walking atlas is stronger than his discomfort. (It's amusing, and frankly, quite endearing.) As they round the base of the mountain, swinging slightly north on their way, the sun starts to set behind them. Whit draws out the proposed path, up to the next pass, with his finger.

"If we wanted to go north from this fork, here, what would be the best way to do it? Stick to the road?"

Jespar clicks his tongue. "You mean if _you_ wanted to go north from there?"

"You came with me by way of your own free will."

"That's your testimony. Now, if you plan on taking us up this way, we really ought to set up camp back over here somewhere. We're south enough now that it shouldn't get too cold, but once we hit this ridge, the nights are going to be freezing. Not to mention, there's going to be some... Unsavory folk, hanging out by this path here. No matter which way you're coming or going, if you're trying to get out of the country by the southern routes or the eastern ones, you're going to go through this junction, so it's a great place to set up troops."

"You think they'll pick on us?" Whit rolls up the map and flexes his free bicep. Jespar snorts.

"You say that like we don't look like a couple of fairies. Yeah, no doubt they'll 'pick on us'."

"Fairies aren't so bad. They're pretty tough to kill, that's for sure."

Whit is sent tumbling into the dust laughing as Jespar shoves him. 

"Besides, Whit, you've got a hell of a memorable face. I'm sure Coarek still remembers you, especially."

He unhooks his backpack while still on the ground. "Okay, okay. Camp, then."

"Not here! Pick that shit back up!"

"It's already off my back!"

Jespar grumbles and shakes his head, rubbing his face. "...You're a baby. I hope a panther eats you in your sleep."

"Get firewood, I'll get the tent?" Jespar pauses and looks visibly uncomfortable at the suggestion, the just-hardly-maintained frown on his face coming much more easily. Whit still can't be entirely sure whether Jespar remembers vividly enough his various sinful confessions under the influences of various mind-altering substances to know if the elf understands his apprehension or not, but he does, and he changes the proposition immediately, "Or, we could both set up the tent, and then go together for firewood. Yeah?"

Jespar hesitates. He gets whatever time he needs to give an answer, he knows that.

"We could do that."

Thankfully, both jobs are easily turned into two-man tasks. While one of them props the stakes and poles the other digs the pit for the fire and unravels the bedroll. Whitlock doesn't end up being an entirely impressive help at gathering having little prior experience in trying to scavenge firewood in the desert, but it just so happens that with his awkwardness set aside Jespar once again has the uncontrollable urge to tell Whit exactly what he's doing wrong and how to do it more akin to his own liking. Another stroke of luck: Whit finds it far more endearing than frustrating. This is a predictable pattern of emotions - something that Jespar has picked up on greatly over the past few years. At first he'd only given the elf information when it seemed that otherwise he'd be ill-suited to the landscape. At the trading post, he'd told Whit about the embargo and the poor position of the then Order, figuring he may need the edge on the political climate. When they'd ventured into the Crystal Forest, however...

That round of geographical trivia was anything but. It wasn't even particularly relevant. He'd just felt at that moment that he could tell exactly how Whit was feeling by the angle of his chin to the sky, the diameter of his wide eyes, and decided to indulge in the moment. Appreciated the beauty together, even though he was still absolutely sure that Whit was a coworker, but his gesture at the twinkling crystals enveloping the forest's canopy, the lumbering gentle giants made of sparkling stone, and the dim, warm glow cast from the rocks absorbing the sun's energy let loose into the nighttime fog was something else. It was beautiful, sure, and he'd been there before, sure. But to Whit, it was something new and incredible and filled with so much worth that he'd wanted in on it. He'd wanted to be a part of that pleasant memory, and just as soon, he'd realized that he'd made a mistake.

He could no longer tell himself that he'd just been a working component in a neat and tidy acquaintance machine. No, that shit got real meaningful real fast. And then he'd started spewing all his knowledge about the crystals, and the neighboring mushroom forest, and what exactly happened in the Dark Valley, and for the next four hours, Whit simply had his ears turned carefully back at him, listening intently, as he spoke until his voice was gone. And then they'd set up camp and Whit, with his stupid goddamn impressive alchemical skills, brewed the most awful tasting mixture of something or other, but it'd gotten them drunk and healed Jespar's throat, and they slept through the night without issue from the wildlife.

As Jespar settles by the fireside in the sand, Whitlock's silhouette shuffles from the other end of the flame to the spot beside him, coming ever clearer into view. Just in time. The sun has dipped behind one of the peaks behind them. The elf takes his helmet off of his head, as well as shucking his gloves and coat of armor and kicks with a boot at the nearest log, making sparks jump into the darkening purple sky.

Whit, for all his usual talkativeness, finds silence beside the other, leaning his head against Jespar's shoulder.

"Thanks for making me come out here with you. I needed something like this."

Whit nods, smiling into the fire. "I know it's not exactly a big, exciting adventure. But it's something other than hanging around town and... y'know. Dying."

Jespar pauses and sighs, purposefully seeking out and squeezing one of Whit's hands.

"Is it bad that I don't know if I'm happy with our decision, yet?"

Whit makes a vague, questioning noise.

"You know. Tealor is back there dead. And he was an asshole, but at least he ended up-"

"Being a martyr doesn't fix you. Having a complex doesn't make everything else okay, man."

Jespar is silent for a moment and then scoots into him, turning his head and noses into the side of his head, sighing into his hair. Whit's ear twitches. What a shitty furry asshole, he hates him.

"Guess I haven't changed very much at all in the end, huh?"

"You've changed a lot for the better! Obviously. You're here. But what kind of guy would I be if I decided to stop bugging you about getting better? Isn't that how good relationships work?"

"Is it? Haven't been in one."

Whitlock laughs and leans back away from him, reaching for his bag and unfolding it open, "Do you want some tea?"

"Is it the weird shit with the wolf eyeballs?"

"...Maybe."

" _Gods_ , please."


End file.
